“Spaghetti with swordfish eggs, and it was divine.”
I tell the waiter I’ll have what he had.
The waiter, suddenly enraged, argues with the islander. “How could you tell her you ate something special like that?”
“It was the most innocent thing in the world,” he protests. “The signora asked, and I told her. What do you want me to say? That it was a schifezza? Disgusting?”
The waiter—actually, the owner and head chef, Antonio Pellegrino—relates this outrageous story to the cooks. One tries to calm him, arguing that perhaps the signora could have just a little taste. “Perché no?” I say, offering my vast appreciation and whatever the dish costs, but he waves me away. No American tourist is getting swordfish eggs, apparently, no matter how much charm she is slathering on in Italian.
After the scene, the islander looks at me and shrugs. “He’s cracked, but the food here is great,” he says.
I eat a pasta with finocchietti and sardines instead, this one with cherry tomatoes. It might be divine, but I am too busy thinking about the swordfish eggs to know for sure.
After lunch, Antonio is cheerful again, and we chat. I remember what a friend had told me, that the islands’ cooks are fiercely independent and will only cook well for you if they like and respect you. So I tell him about the time I was bitten by a moray eel on Filicudi, almost losing a finger. I show him the scar, and he warms up to me. Everyone on the island has heard stories about someone losing a finger to a moray eel, but for an American tourist to be bitten on a short visit is spectacularly bad luck.
“The next time I encountered a moray eel,” I tell him, “I ate him. Grilled.” Antonio appreciates that act of culinary revenge, and approves of my method. Piero, the other chef, sidles by and offers that he was once so mad at the jellyfish for biting him that he wokked some—but alas, they had no taste whatsoever.
I give Piero and Antonio my profuse thanks for the meal, compliment the food, the weather, the island, and Italians in general, and tell them I’ll be back. Piero kisses me on both cheeks, which is a good sign.
The Aeolians are a difficult place to get to and a difficult place to be. But I will indeed return to Filicudi. I’ll eat at La Sirena every day, until they insist I try the spaghetti with swordfish eggs, until they want me to eat it as much as I do. And then I may just stay, doing nothing all day but deciding: Villa La Rosa? or La Sirena?
Staying There
With its all-organic breakfasts, cool blue and white tiles, and magnificent views, Hotel Raya (Via S. Pietro, Panarea; 090-983013; from $213) is a fashionista favorite. The quirky, Asian-themed Hotel Oriente (Via Guglielmo Marconi 35, Lipari; 090-9811493; from $83) has friendly, impeccable service and a charming garden. Villa Meligunis Hotel (Via Marte 7, Lipari; 090-9812426; from $173), Lipari’s poshest, has a spectacular rooftop bar and restaurant but a businessman’s ambiance—and canned fruit and Nescafé at breakfast. The loveliest hotel in the islands is the Hotel Signum (Via Scalo 15, Salina; 090-9844222; from $115), built in traditional Aeolian style, surrounded by vineyards and gardens, and offering a gorgeous view of the sea.
Eating There
On Panarea, chef Giovanna Mandarano of Da Pina (Via S. Pietro; 090-983032) uses the traditional flavors of the islands in an updated cuisine. (The restaurant also has a small pensione.) Specializing in seafood for 30 years, Da Paolino (Via Iditella 75; 090-983008) is full of locals—some of whom, says Paolino Spanò, can tell whether a dish was made by him or his wife. A pensione and simple outdoor restaurant with typical pasta dishes, Trattoria La Sirena (Via Drautto 4; 090-983012) has been run by the same family for 35 years. For a quick lunch or bite of pizza on the way to the beach, stop in at Panificio di Antonio Morganti (Via S. Pietro; 090-983284).
Depending on who’s cooking that day, the traditional island dishes with a refined twist (sweet-and-sour fish, squid ink risotto, caponata) at Lipari’s Ristorante La Nassa (Via G. Franza 36; 090-9811319) range from good to extraordinary. (La Nassa is also a pensione.) The very simple, traditional Ristorante Nenzyna (Via Roma 4; 090-9811660) is inexpensive and wonderful. (And if you need a taxi to see the island, arrange for it here.) Ristorante Filippino (Piazza Mazzini; 090-9811002) has been the most famous (and certainly the most formal) restaurant on Lipari since 1910. Its less formal outpost, E Pulera (Via Isabella Conti Vainicher; 090-9811158), is also worth a visit.
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